Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 437 Regulus: I Have Intelligence

The conversations in the tavern didn't completely stop, but they were all suppressed.

At the table near the door, two wizards were speaking with their heads close together, their lips almost touching their ears.

The old man at the bar was still staring at his cup, motionless, as if he were asleep.

No one was looking towards the corner, but their peripheral vision was glued to this table.

Two white-haired wizards, an old man with a white beard and a young, rugged man with long silver hair, sat facing each other.

The older one looked very happy, while the younger one had one leg crossed, his posture extremely relaxed.

One is scrutinizing, the other is letting the scrutinizing happen.

Dumbledore sat opposite him, not in a hurry to speak. He had already seen his appearance and clothing; now he was looking at something deeper.

The scorching magic on the surface of the body was outward, violent, and restless, with an oppressive feeling that seemed to be rushing outward. These were external things that any wizard with keen senses could perceive.

Magic can leak out, it can be contained, and it can alter temperature and texture. All well-trained wizards can do this, but the degree and method vary greatly.

Ordinary magic release is a physiological overflow; it only flows out when it cannot be controlled. When the amount is large, it feels oppressive, but in essence, it is out of control or semi-out of control.

Regulus's burning heat was not like that. Beneath this outward-radiating magic, he saw the texture of will; it had direction, intention, and form.

Dumbledore was no stranger to this; he had seen the boy's Guardian Will used to control Fiendfire and even try to integrate it into the castle's spatial structure.

That must be the purest thing in his heart, and his desire to protect it was so strong that it could manifest and affect the outside world.

Converge inward, be gentle, be firm, and guard the boundaries.

Now he sees another way.

It bursts outward, expands, and becomes violent, carrying a scorching and restless will.

It's completely different from guarding. One goes inward to protect oneself from being swayed by external things, while the other rushes outward to crash into all obstacles in its path.

But looking deeper, these two wills are not contradictory.

Protection requires strength, and strength needs direction. Protection without the support of strength is hollow, and strength without direction is just blindly stumbling around.

A thirteen-year-old child, with two outward manifestations of his will, two complete facets growing from the same core.

This is different from the division brought about by black magic; it comes from the integrity of the will itself, knowing what it wants to protect and what it needs to release for that purpose.

He had seen too many wizards who were biased towards one side; some only knew how to defend, and would retreat again and again until the very end; others only knew how to attack, and would eventually burn themselves out in the process.

Regulus was different; he could both defend the borders and eliminate any threats beyond them.

A look of satisfaction flashed in Dumbledore's eyes; he felt gratified.

The child went further and more steadily than he had expected.

Blue eyes blinked, and her tone was relaxed and casual: "When were you preparing this?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

The old man stared at him for so long, and no one knew what he was looking at, or perhaps he had discovered something that even he himself did not know.

Maybe they were wondering if they liked his outfit, maybe they were wondering what he was up to when he ran out, or maybe they just found it amusing.

The old man often found everything interesting, including a second-year wizard who had completely transformed himself from head to toe knocking out a strong man with one punch in a tavern, and a lame crow on the windowsill.

He grinned, tilting his chin slightly, looking quite pleased with himself: "Yesterday."

Dumbledore chuckled and nodded, his white beard twitching.

"Very well prepared," he said with genuine admiration, his blue eyes crinkling into a smile. "Quite well prepared, even the temperament has changed."

Although praising a child probably doesn't mean much to them, it's still something that needs to be said.

After praising him, he looked at Regulus's combat attire and joked, "Millerva modified it?"

Regulus glanced down at himself, tugged at his sleeve, and said sincerely, "Professor, your cooking is excellent."

Dumbledore smiled, probably imagining the expression on Minerva's face when she did this transformation.

Regulus sensed it as soon as he sat down; soundproofing spells had been cast around him, probably the instant he pulled out the chair and sat down.

He leaned forward, resting his arm on the table, his amber vertical pupils meeting blue eyes, and a smirk played on his lips: "You said you wanted to see my skills—"

Dumbledore looked up, his blue eyes flashing behind his glasses.

"I brought intelligence."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows slightly, placed his hands clasped on the table, and became focused.

Regulus didn't beat around the bush, his voice slightly lowering: "I saw him last December."

Dumbledore's gaze behind his half-moon spectacles sharpened for a moment.

He knew who they were talking about, and he also knew about the Christmas dinner: Lestrange Manor, Bellatrix, Fiendfyre, and Voldemort himself were present.

He had the information and pieced together the general picture through various channels, but he never got the details that could only be obtained by standing in front of Voldemort.

Regulus began by saying, “Choose the important ones.”

"The appearance has changed. The skin is like wax. From a distance, it still looks like a person, but up close, something feels wrong. The texture is different from that of a living person. It looks more like... some kind of imitation."

Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed slightly.

"And the nose," Regulus gestured to his face, his fingers sliding from the bridge of his nose to the nostrils: "The bridge is still there, but the nostrils are narrowing, the overall shape is flat, like a snake, but not quite."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed slightly.

Regulus continued, "The eyes are dark red with vertical pupils, resembling dark human eyes in normal light, but glowing red in the dark."

He paused for a moment, then raised his voice slightly: "His magic cannot be detected by conventional perception."

The eyes could see a person standing there, but when the magical senses probed, the response was blank; there was nothing in that spot, as if a piece had been scooped out from the magical realm.

Dumbledore lowered his gaze and landed on the table.

He knew how perceptive this child was; for Nicole to notice him was a testament to his skill.

"Proof of his existence," Regulus's voice continued, "is a tremor deep within the bones and a response at the level of the soul."

Dumbledore fell silent, not pressing the matter, his brow furrowed deeply, and the light in his eyes dimmed.

Regulus didn't wait for him to speak before continuing, "He looked at Bella like she was an inanimate object."

He had said the same thing to Slughorn, but at the time he only stated the objective facts without adding any judgment.

You can say a little more to Dumbledore.

"My speculation is that in order to gain some kind of power or reach a certain state, he paid a price; his ability to empathize and connect with people was lost."

Voldemort's soul had some problems, it had split into many pieces, and he didn't need to know or reveal these things.

In fact, Horcruxes are not considered any great secret in ancient pure-blood families.

"Unveiling the Secrets of Cutting-Edge Black Magic", "Life and Death: The Secrets of Horcruxes", "The Ultimate Poison Magic", "The Theory and Practice of Black Magic".

These books all contain records of this, and they are not unique copies; every household has one in their collection.

The concepts, principles, and dangers are known to most people who have read this book, but those with a sound mind wouldn't touch it.

Soul damage is common. Overdoing research, being cursed, or dealing with dark magic for too long can all leave scars on the soul.

But that's called loss, not active cutting.

Actively tearing your soul apart and stuffing the fragments into a container is like dismantling yourself and then hoping that the dismantled parts can keep the whole machine running.

There are only a handful of wizards with that kind of courage every few hundred years.

But he can't say this out loud.

Horcruxes, tearing apart the soul to usurp death, are Voldemort's core secret.

At this moment, apart from Voldemort himself, and perhaps Slughorn, no one else knows about this.

It's normal to know about Horcruxes, but knowing that Voldemort created Horcruxes requires explanation.

Dumbledore might have connected with Voldemort in some way that he shouldn't have.

Therefore, not a single word should be uttered; losing one's humanity is enough; the rest is for the old man to deal with himself.

Dumbledore remained silent for a long time, then lifted his blue eyes from the table to look at Regulus, and sighed, his white beard trembling slightly.

His eyes held a complex mix of emotions: regret, weariness, and heaviness.

He remembered Tom from before.

The boy who used magic to retaliate against the children who bullied him in the orphanage, the young man who walked alone in the Hogwarts corridors carrying books, and the prefect who showed a polite smile to all the professors.

At that time, he still had the ability to connect with people, even if it was only superficial or utilitarian, but at least he needed others.

No, it's not necessary now.

When a person no longer needs anyone, they are truly all alone.

Loneliness at least allows one to crave companionship, but he has lost even the capacity for loneliness.

He tore off the human parts of himself piece by piece, replacing them with power, and then stood at the top of that power, looking down at nothing below.

Regulus waited a moment.

The old man didn't seem inclined to ask any further questions; he simply remained silent, then raised his eyes and looked at him again.

Dumbledore may be able to guess more, that's his business; he may have already obtained some clues, that's also his business.

That's all he could say about Voldemort.

He pulled himself together and continued speaking.

"Voldemort is preparing a werewolf army. Fenrir Greyback, in North Yorkshire, an abandoned mining village, has thirty or forty werewolves entrenched there, and they are still biting people to increase their numbers."

He was controlling them with resources and territory—food, daily necessities, and potions to alleviate the pain of transformation—on the condition that they cooperated with the overall plan and did not attack wizarding settlements outside the designated targets.

Dumbledore's brow unfurrowed.

Voldemort's soul and body were both compromised; that was a core issue. The dozens of werewolves were merely a tactical deployment, not on the same level.

But the blue-eyed man remained focused, nodding occasionally.

"Lucius Malfoy told me that there are also Inferi. Voldemort is creating Inferi. There was a massacre in Little Hangleton, the scale of which is unclear. Malfoy said that the village was wiped out overnight."

The Ministry of Magic has been infiltrated; someone has entered the Auror's office; and the Dementors are starting to loosen their grip.

Of these messages, some Dumbledore already knew, some were fragments that he was matching with what he already had, and some were new.

He listened quietly, then remained silent for a while.

Something ran past the window and barked twice; it was probably a stray dog, or maybe something else.

Dumbledore looked at Regulus and said gently, "I'm also investigating the matter of the Inferi."